Cold Snap
by KateToast
Summary: All right, so maybe she didn't have the flu. - Katniss has news for Peeta.


**XXX**

Katniss looked at the test again. Was it lying? She thought on the three other tests she had taken today, all with the same stomach-knotting result.

All right, so maybe she didn't have the flu.

It had been a cold winter in District 12, surely one of the harshest in temperature in recent years. A nasty bug had quickly spread through town, everyone indoors coughing on each other and exchanging microscopic germs. Eventually even Peeta's strong immune system had failed him, and he'd spent almost an entire week at home going back and forth between the bedroom and bathroom, the bakery left in the care of his eager assistant. Peeta was a miserable invalid, downplaying the severity of his illness and reluctant to let his wife do anything for him – it reminded Katniss of their time spent in the cave during the Games, but she didn't linger on that thought. He finally succumbed to being waited on when he realized how enjoyable it was to have the Mockingjay at his beck and call, and he certainly abused the privilege.

(They both knew Katniss would do anything for him, but her loud sighs and exaggerated eye rolls at his requests made the game more fun.)

Peeta got better and went back to baking and painting and the air grew a tiny bit warmer – that, of course, was when Katniss fell ill, fueling bedside banter between husband and wife over where blame should be laid and if any of old Greasy Sae's soups could magically cure the flu.

And after a few days of playing the detested sick role, Katniss returned to herself – as far as Peeta knew, at least. She wasn't lying to him, per se, when he asked if she was okay: she _did _feel normal most of the time, but at least once or twice while Peeta was at the bakery waves of dizziness and nausea would roll over her like a train, no matter if she was in the house or out hunting or checking in on Haymitch.

It was during one of these spells that her old mentor presented the obvious answer Katniss had been studiously thinking around: "Geez, sweetheart – you sure your flu isn't a little bun in the oven from the baker?"

Haymitch had been busy smirking at his pun and adding more white liquor to his tea, and had missed the way Katniss's own teacup slipped in her fingers. She had placed the cup down as steadily as possible and then had shot to her feet, claiming to have forgotten something in town. Haymitch's protests of "oh c'mon, I'm just kidding!" had followed her out the door.

_Stupid old drunk_, Katniss thought now, staring at the test. At least if he hadn't said anything she could have had a few more days, maybe even weeks, in blissful oblivion to her newfound condition.

Though truthfully, she reasoned with herself, hadn't she known something was off lately? Deep down, in that place where she kept her nightmares and her sister and her dead friends, hadn't there been another old fear creeping its way to the surface? For as often as Peeta was sick, Katniss fell ill even less frequently – this had _never_ been the flu.

She left the tests scattered in the bathroom and wandered downstairs, automatically pulling on her boots and shrugging into her oversized jacket. She was out of the door in moments, taking steadying breaths in the crisp air, boots squelching in the melting snow.

She had known this was coming. She had _agreed_ to it, hadn't she?, had finally caved after so many years, so many fights, so many nights of Peeta's pleading blue eyes. It hadn't seemed as scary when she initially relented, when it was all hypothetical. She didn't even know if it _could_ happen at this point, after all of the trauma in her young life.

She had told Peeta as much while they were in bed, one of the first nights after she had told him of her change of mind: "It may not happen, you know."

He had understood immediately, running his sturdy fingers through her wild hair. "Doesn't hurt to try," he'd answered, playful and serious at the same time. "If it isn't meant to be, that'll be okay too."

Katniss sucked in another chilly breath, walking out of the Victor's Village – she didn't know why everyone still called it that, probably old habits and all of that, and she and Peeta and Haymitch were the only inhabitants anyway besides the geese. She debated over which way to turn: one way meant the Meadow, and then the woods, and she knew if she went that way she'd stay lost out there until Peeta got home and found the tests and became concerned and sent a search party for her – in her younger days she would have gone this way without another thought.

The other way headed into town, and Katniss decided this was the better route.

She felt oddly calm about this turn of events – before, when she'd allowed herself to consider this moment, she had imagined the possibility of some sort of meltdown, the kind that takes hold of you and doesn't let go until a sleeping pill is administered. She was _unnerved_ by how normally she walked through town past the new shops, how normally she waved to Thom across the street, how normally she came upon Mellark Bakery.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Mellark," Peeta's assistant greeted behind the counter, perpetual smile plastered on his face.

"I've told you, Sam, it's Katniss," she answered, her voice friendly enough, and this was all normal, too. A few patrons glanced at her, some whispered quickly. Could they tell just by looking at her?

"I'll get Peeta for you," Sam said.

"No, that's okay – I'll go back myself," Katniss said, nodding at the young man to continue waiting on the line. She slipped behind the counter and through the door to the kitchen.

Peeta's broad back greeted her, his apron strings tied haphazardly over his t-shirt. He was leaning over a sheet of cookies, frosting meticulously – Katniss hated to interrupt him at work when he was so focused, but she figured it was warranted.

He hadn't heard her – her movements were still quite silent, and she took a moment to let another large breath out. For the first time all day, she placed a fleeting hand over her flat stomach.

"Peeta," she said quietly, so as not to startle him.

He stopped his frosting at once and turned. There was flour in his blonde hair, and blue icing on his cheek. "Katniss. Are you okay?" he asked, setting down his frosting materials and walking to her.

And it was only now, with her husband of twelve years in front of her wearing his most concerned expression, covered in flour and frosting and smelling like bread and home, that Katniss finally felt herself crumble.

The tears came quickly and she pressed her eyes closed, turning her face away from Peeta. "Katniss," he said again, begging, taking her by the arms and leading her to a nearby stool. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

The endearment, which sounded so different coming from him than Haymitch, only made the tears fall faster. Peeta gave her this moment, rubbing her back, his face close to hers.

Having recovered slightly, Katniss swiped a hand under her eyes. "It wasn't the flu," she finally mumbled.

Peeta's brow furrowed as he pulled his head back in confusion. "What?"

"I – I haven't had the flu. I took a test," she continued, staring at the tiled floor. "Actually I took four tests, but they all said the same thing, and I wouldn't have even realized if Haymitch hadn't made that _stupid_ comment—"

"What did Haymitch say?" Peeta asked, lost. He placed his calloused hands on each side of Katniss's face, moving her head so he could look at her. She willed him to understand without needing the words, but he stayed silent and questioning.

"Peeta, I think I'm – pregnant," she admitted in a whisper.

Peeta didn't move, his eyes roving over her face, and then Katniss spied a tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Pregnant?"

"Yes," she said, hands twisting together in her lap. She felt seventeen again. "Not the flu."

"A baby," Peeta said, and now he couldn't even hide his smile. But it faded quickly when Katniss didn't return his joyous look. "I thought this – I thought this was what we wanted?"

"I thought so too," Katniss said. "I just didn't – I didn't know how I'd feel."

"How _do_ you feel?"

"I thought I was okay," she explained, looking at her lap. "I left the house and I thought I was okay, and I walked through town and I was fine, but then I got here and saw you…" Peeta waited for her to continue. "I guess a part of me never thought this would actually happen."

"Katniss… you had said you wanted this. We've been trying for months," Peeta reminded her, and he put his hands over her own to stop their twisting. "Are you saying you _don't_ want it anymore?"

"I'm not saying that," Katniss said quickly, frowning at her husband. She wished he would wipe the damn icing off of his cheek. "I – I don't know _what_ I'm saying."

"Sweetheart, this is a _good_ thing," Peeta said, smile returning. He moved his hands to her stomach. "This is – _amazing_," he added. "It's our baby, Katniss."

She felt moisture in her eyes again and blinked a few times. "I don't know if I'm cut out to be a mother, Peeta."

They'd had this conversation many, many times before. "Of course you are," he said fiercely. "How could you think that? You have so much love to give, Katniss. Our baby is lucky to have you as a mother."

"I just really, really don't want to screw this up," Katniss said. Her mind unwittingly moved to Prim and how hard she had worked to protect her little sister – all for naught.

"You won't," Peeta promised, cradling her head in his hand. "And you'll have me."

"That's true," she agreed, feeling a fraction better. "I should probably go see a doctor or something, to be sure."

"We'll go together," Peeta said, and Katniss could see his mind already working, nursery wall colors and baby clothes and the perfect type of diaper. Things she hadn't even allowed herself to consider yet.

They stayed this way in the back room of the bakery for some time, Peeta's thumb grazing Katniss's cheek, her hands in her lap.

Eventually, Sam wandered in. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, taking in the scene. Katniss jumped from the stool and Peeta moved away and towards his assistant.

"No, it's okay, Sam. What's up?"

"A customer had a question about some of your ingredients," he explained, shooting an apologetic look towards Katniss.

"Tell them I'll be right out," Peeta said. Sam nodded and backed out of the room.

Katniss had crossed her arms over her chest. Peeta turned and gathered her into an embrace before she realized what was happening. She wrapped her arms around his middle and inhaled the flour scent in his hair, her eyes squeezed closed.

"We'll be okay," Peeta breathed into her ear. "We'll figure all of this out."

"Okay," she said, pulling back so she could see his face. He had always been able to soothe her – one of the countless reasons she couldn't imagine living without him.

He grinned suddenly, hands moving up and down her sides. "Katniss, we're having a baby."

"We are," she said, arms moving around his neck. He leaned down and kissed her, hard and desperate, but pulled back soon enough. "You need to get out there," she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he said. He pressed his lips to hers again. "I'll be home early."

"All right," Katniss said, moving towards the back door as Peeta headed to the front room. She turned, her hand on the doorknob. "Peeta," she called. He glanced at her. "You have frosting on your cheek."

He barked a laugh. "You could have told me earlier," he said, wiping his face with his apron.

"I thought the other thing was more important."

"You were right," he agreed, still grinning like a fool. "You two get home," he ordered happily.

Anyone else would have received a glare, but Katniss allowed a smirk at his words, her fears at bay for the moment. She walked back home with the lingering smell of the bakery, blonde hair and gray eyes and little feet on her mind.

**XXX**


End file.
